Buried in the desert sands
by headless-nic
Summary: Travelling under the guise of Hendrik Sigerson, Holmes arrives in Egypt, where he gets involved in a case when the mummified remains of a blond bespectacled man get discovered in the desert. Struggling with the unfamiliar surroundings & conditions, he at least has a trusted companion by his side. Follow up of 'In the care of a lady', post-Reichenbach, set during Holmes' hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**About a year ago I have said I would work on another adventure for Hendrik Sigerson, meaning Sherlock Holmes during his travels, and here at last it is. - At least the first chapter of it. It currently is rated as a K+, but I might have to change it to a T later on, I am not quite sure yet.**

 **Once again, I have tried to be as historically accurate as I could be, but it was difficult to get any detailed information that exceeds the common knowledge and hence a lot is nothing but assumptions on my side. Also, I have never been to Egypt myself and had to rely on the information available to me. In regards to the mentioned digs and pharao's that will come up in later chapters, they are mere figments of my imagination, as the history of Egypt is too long and too complex to digest within such a short amount of time as one year. I am lucky to have an exceptional museum with an incredible ancient Egyptian collection basically at my doorstep, and still, all the names and historical events are rather intimidating. So please, forgive any liberties taken, but there is only so much time I can invest in my stories without neglecting my other duties.**

 **So, have fun reading, and please leave me a feedback. Thank you. Nic**

 **Chapter 1**

The sea was calm, its surface only rippling slightly, glistening in the golden beams of the early morning sun, and there I was, aboard the small steamship that had brought me here from Venice, casting my first glance at the busy port of Alexandria. The sky was as clear and blue as could be reflecting in the calm waters of the Mediterranean Sea where a myriad of tiny boats, larger steamships, just like the one I had boarded about a week prior to coming hither, as well as some sailing vessels, bobbed up and down on the ever-moving surface that kept them afloat. Behind the harbour the ancient city rose, glaringly white with dots of colour here and there making it look like a sugar glazed cake with intricate, colourful icing on top that were the domes and minarets of the many mosques standing out from amongst the mainly flat roofs.

I had heard tales about this city, its beauty and history, but had never thought I would see it for myself. Now I was here, fascinated and intrigued and still, had I had a choice I would have traded the fair prospect that came ever so much closer as we pulled into port, I would have chosen my home over it anytime. I have written to my brother of my departure to Egypt and not yet received an answer. That he had gotten my message, however, was apparent by the fact, that when I deboarded, the tiny suitcase with my meagre belongings in hand, a well-known figure approached me, undeterred by my masquerade. There, in his white linen suit and broad-rimmed straw hat my father stood, the man I had, for so many years believed to be my uncle. He looked pretty much as I remembered him, though his hair had grizzled with age and he wore silver-framed glasses. But behind them his eyes were as sparkling with intelligence and wit and as kind as they had ever been and the smile he gave me was a warm and welcoming one.

"It is good to see you, my boy," he exclaimed seemingly unsure of how to greet me in the light of my necessary incognito.

For a moment I hesitated before I dropped my suitcase unceremoniously and embraced him, an act that as a child had been so very natural in all my once innocent trust in Aldwin Holmes. I had not seen the man in a good ten years and only now I realised how much I had missed him. All my anger towards him about having kept my real parentage a secret had evaporated long ago and still, aside from the occasional letter I had hardly kept up any contact, despite having picked up my pen time and time again to write. But some things are hard to put into words and as yet I had been unable to write down anything that sounded neither accusing, when it was not supposed t be so, or downright silly. Perhaps it was good then that fate had decided for me.

"I am glad to see you as well," I answered upon letting him go, though his hand, stayed on my shoulder as he looked at me intently, to a point where I felt almost under scrutiny.

"It would have been better, had it been under different circumstances, I suppose," he said at last with a wry smile playing on his lips, though I could see how touched he was by my greeting. "But I am glad you are here anyway."

I picked up my suitcase again and together we made our way towards a waiting carriage that was to bring us to a small hotel in one of the narrow and crowded side streets in the very centre of Alexandria, close to one of the busiest bazaars, so that the air around us was constantly filled with the many aromas of the many spices on offer there, the cinnamon, nutmeg, mint, saffron, frankincense.

It was but a small room we were to share for a couple of days till we would make our way south to Cairo where my father lived unless he was on a dig since he had left England to work as an Archaeologist. But despite its feeble size, it was comfortably furnished with artful oriental rugs covering the floor, the bright colours gleaming in the warm sunlight like jewels. Two narrow four-poster beds, sporting thin net curtains to make them airy while keeping out the millions of mosquitos haunting the delta with its sea of papyrus along the banks of the River Nile, as well as a wide table in the centre of the room surrounded by carved chairs, that in any other surrounding would have looked oppressive made up most of the furniture, aside from a closet. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a cosy looking divan underneath the high window, its thin curtains billowing in the slight breeze that made the heat outside just about bearable as the sun rose ever so much higher.

The short drive we had spent in silence, as both of us pondered on how to begin and where. There were many subjects either of us wanted to address and yet was timid to do so. Too much had passed between us and either of us intended to tread carefully as to not break the truce we had made many years ago.

But at last, it was my father who broke the silence as we entered our chamber.

"You cannot imagine how glad I was to receive Mycroft's news that you were alive and well, considering the circumstances. The news of your death was hard on me."

"I am sorry, father, I did not mean to..." I replied, unsure how to put my words.

With some astonishment, I saw that at my words his face had lit up and with tears in his eyes, he replied: "I know and I understand, Sherlock. It must have been very hard for you to leave everything behind so unexpectedly. At least I have made a decision when I left, you were thrown in the midst of it."

"I could have acted differently, father. I could have called out to Watson and return to London with him."

"And then? Your brother explained the situation to me and I agree with your decision. Not only will it keep your friends out of harm's way, but it gives you a decided advantage if you are believed to be dead."

He still looked greatly touched and at last, I could not help asking why.

"You cannot imagine how I have longed for you to call me 'father' instead of 'Uncle Aldwin'. That you do so now, has made everything worthwhile," he replied not meeting my eyes but on his cheeks, I could see a single tear make its way down and I had to swallow hard.

Eventually, he took out his pipe and began to stuff it. A habit of his I had known so well as a child that eventually, and quite subconsciously, I had adapted it. Taking out my own pipe I mimicked him which made him chuckle and at last, we sat down at the table to wait for the tea we had ordered downstairs. It promptly arrived and we resumed our long overdue conversation.

"You know, I have always thought of you as my father, in all but name."

"Yes, I know and I hope I was a father to both of you. To both my boys. But in order to be that, I had to be your uncle, for where would it have left Mycroft?"

I nodded thoughtfully, as at last, I got the answer I had longed for, for so many years but never dared to ask. And with it, all my initial anger at the shocking revelation of him being my natural father had at last completely evaporated. It was such an obvious explanation, such a considerate one, that I felt rather stupid for not having realised it long ago. My brother had been devastated by our parents' death. So much so, that Aldwin had taken him out of school for two years, for he neither ate nor spoke in the first couple of weeks after the news had reached him. I felt ashamed and inconsiderate but my father, carefully studying my expression only chuckled, his eyes sparkling.

"We all have been young once, Sherlock, and while I could not act any differently, neither could you. What you must have felt when you first read your late mother's letter, I cannot even begin to imagine. I should have told you earlier, but just as we stand before each other now, two grown men, it can be extremely hard to talk about the most important things. Those things that most urgently should be addressed. But with all that has come to pass, I would never trade what we had for anything in the world. Family and love are worth all the heartbreak it can potentially bring, never forget that, my son. But while the stakes are high and one can easily lose everything in the process, the winnings one might get out of either – or both - are worth it all."

With that, we sat in silence, smoking and drinking our tea, while below us the humming of the busy street drifted up and through the open window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry, I know it is a slow beginning... Still, I hope you do like it.**

 **Chapter 2**

We spent only a few days in Alexandria and my father, having visited Alexander the Great's city frequently, showed me around. From the old amphitheatre to Pompey's column and the city's ancient catacombs I had a good lesson in archaeology and not for the first time I realised that my father was as much a detective as I, only that he was hunting down the past while I hunted down the criminal.

Five days later we boarded yet another steamboat and made our way upriver. For an Englishman such as I the sight was a curious one, I have to admit. There we were floating along the broad band of the massive river its banks flanked by papyrus and immediately behind the settlements and fields while behind the green and lush plantations, the sands of the desert piled up almost ominously. On occasion, we spotted a crocodile in the water and despite the constant threat this posed to me, I still saw children, as well as adults, take a bath in the cooling water that gave them their livelihood. The more I saw of the land, the more I could relate to their ancient culture, their respect for the nature surrounding them and on which they had been so dependent – and their descendants still were.

After a long day, we reached Cairo, just as the sun was setting in the west, tinting the dunes in the distance in a golden glow as if they themselves were the source of the light that reflected upon them. The city itself was just as much a mixture of ancient traditional houses, colonial buildings and mosques and bazaars as Alexandria had been, though the climate seemed quite different, being drier and the wind less refreshing as it had been up north.

"So, Mr Sigerson, here we are. Welcome to my home," my father addressed me formally, which was explained by the approach of two men who were obviously some colleagues of his.

"Ah, Holmes, you have returned," one of them, a middle-aged man with blond hair and a clean-shaven face that had a somewhat sly expression stated.

"Yes, Mr Harris, I very obviously have done so," was my father's smirking reply before he bowed to the other man, "Dr MacKenna, good to see you are well again."

The other man was about my own age, dark-haired and blue-eyed like so many Irish.

McKenna smiled and with an ironically lifted eyebrow said: "You know, it is just my luck to be struck down with a fever when I am supposed to go up and help Professor Norris. You know he has lately got it into his head to dig around the Valley of the Kings to search for yet another lost tomb. There have been tales about a great treasure buried there and, as you well know, the professor has never been a man to resist such a temptation."

At that Aldwin only laughed, shaking his head in commiseration.

"He has asked for you to come along," Mr Harris stated without further ado.

The man did not seem to be on too friendly terms with my father, while the other seemed to have great respect for him.

"Has he, now? I have only just arrived back here and as you can see, I have a visitor, whom I would like to show around a little. May I introduce Mr Hendrik Sigerson."

"Pleasure," MacKenna replied with a smile, shaking my hand firmly, while Harris only nodded in acknowledgement.

"Likewise."

"I thought Johnson is to go up with the professor," my father said thoughtfully as he turned to unlock the door to the small house he called his home.

"Ah, you know Johnson and his antics. He's gone off on his own again, leaving his poor wife waiting anxiously for his return once again." Harris said with some disdain in his voice.

Sighing my father replied that he was well aware that Henry Johnson was not the most reliable men to engage in any expedition, but that now he was really tired and wanted to rest.

"If you must, come over tomorrow morning and we'll see what is to be done about good old Norris and his crazy ideas," he added after a moment in which both gentlemen had tried to pursue the matter further.

That at last silenced them and at last, we entered the sparsely furnished building. My father had never been one to spend on unnecessary luxuries and it showed. Still, his abode was comfortable enough crammed with books stacked on shelves and in every corner, as well as various artefacts that had found their way into his own private collection – including a mummy, that stood, leaning against the wall in the narrow hallway, its bandages in tatters.

"Oh, meet Percy, I got him about a month ago for safekeeping. Since then he is taking up space here and has scared away my housekeeper after he fell on top of her while she was dusting."

Something of the man I had known and loved so well was back and I could not resist laughing. And then it struck me that after months of loneliness I suddenly was not alone anymore. I had been the prodigal son and just as he had been welcomed back by his father, I had been welcomed back by mine.

Reaching for my father's violin I tuned it and began playing, remembering my first lessons I had received from him, while he went out once again to get some food for us.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I had slept exceptionally well and when I, at last, rose from my bed I found my father downstairs with the two men we had met last evening upon our arrival. MacKenna sitting calmly on a chair while Harris paced up and down the length of the room, seemingly greatly irritating my father, who leaned against the doorframe to the tiny kitchen of his house. A kitchen so very different from the one at 'The Meadows', the small farmhouse I had grown up in, in the south of England.

"You cannot refuse, Holmes, you will have to go," the pacing man stated with some vehemence, obviously a reply to my father's refusal to go.

"I can very well refuse to do so, considering that I have work of my own here at the museum. And then there is the dig at Gizah as well, where I am involved."

"You are not so involved right now," Harris, the dour man answered, paying little heed to my presence.

Glancing at me, MacKenna shrugged his shoulders apologetically before addressing his companion: "You know Mr Holmes is right, Harris – and still Holmes, I would really appreciate it, if you could join us. You are pretty much the only person Norris is listening to and that has to count for something."

"Well, perhaps we could go together, what do you say, Sigerson?"

As I had little else to do and no definite plans I readily agreed, by now quite curious about Professor Norris and his obvious antics.

A week later I found myself once more on board a ship as we travelled the four-hundred miles to Luxor and the mysterious Valley of the Kings, which, from what I had heard, was an archaeological treasure trove. Not that I could really recall any of the discoveries made there if I were honest. Back home it had been of too little interest for me, to follow any news regarding this prominent spot, and I but rarely ventured to the museum, also from lack of interest. But during our journey I, at last, was able to pick up a great deal of what I had been missing these last couple of years – whether I wanted or not, considering whom I was travelling with.

While MacKenna was an amiable travelling companion, Harris continued to be brooding and morose and I could not help wondering what was behind his attitude. He was a married man, but whether his wife was in the country or back home I had as yet been unable to determine. Aside from that he was descendant from a noble line, an avid card-player, preferred a hookah to a normal pipe, using strong shishah tobacco and rose-scented water, had started his career in the army which also seemed to account for his stiff right shoulder. Considering his age and that the wound had hampered him for many years, judging by the normality with which he compensated the stiffness, it was an easy assumption to make that he had served at the second Afghan war, just as Watson had.

It was on our third evening that this conclusion was proven to be right. I had found Harris smoking at the foredeck to which he had retreated, and against all odds, we started talking.

"Have you ever tried?" he asked all of a sudden, holding out the nozzle of his hookah.

"Only once," I admitted, not adding that it had not been to my taste.

"You should join me, it is very soothing."

"I prefer a normal pipe."

"Ah well, suit yourself," he said and I thought that with that remark the conversation was closed.

But it was not.

"I hate it here! All this sand and the incessant heat. One should think I am used to it by now, but I am not. I have spent the majority of my adult life in the subtropics and still, I long for the Yorkshire Dales. I heard you are a diplomat?"

"I am," I lied.

Wondering after his statement, what kept him here.

"Well, Mr Sigerson, do you never miss home?"

"I do. I cannot remember Norway, as I was too small when my parents left for England, but to think of a light drizzle and yellow fog makes me quite sentimental."

"Have you a wife?"

"No."

"I have. Bane of my existence, Mr Sigerson. I cannot live with, nor can I live without her."

"Are you drunk?"

"Of course I am. I wonder how Holmes can bear being around Professor Norris, but I am really not looking forward to babysitting him."

"What is it about this man then? One should think he can take care of himself, considering that he has a professorship in archaeology."

"Alas, he has not." Harris chuckled bitterly, "He taught medieval literature at Cambridge and I have to give him that, there he is the best one can possibly imagine. But then he got it into his head to become an archaeologist and he happened to have the right connections to forego any further education on the subject. I am not a trained archaeologist either, but I at least attempted to educate myself and after years of hard graft, at last, got accepted into that illustrious circle. - Mainly thanks to your host. Holmes is a good man, but humble to a fault. MacKenna is also good, but perhaps a bit too green."

Yes, that described my father pretty well – humble to a fault. And honourable to an extreme.

We sat in silence for a while, watching the ripples of the murky water, before he started to speak again: "Is there any particular reason you are here?"

"No, I am currently just travelling, that is all."

"Hm, I was just wondering."

Despite his casual tone of voice I could not help but feel that there was more to the matter than he was letting on. But considering that we were nothing more than just mere travelling companions, I refrained from digging deeper. It was none of my business anyway and in my situation, it was probably wiser to keep my mouth shut, lest I said too much. It was difficult enough for my father and me to accept that from now on he had to address me as Mr Sigerson, while I had to call him Mr Holmes. Oh, lives little ironies!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

We reached Luxor on the third day of our journey. A fascinating town in the middle of the desert, barely inhabited but by a few natives, a squadron of antiquarians and a couple of tourists who were adventurous enough to venture here. Though admittedly, the accommodations here seemed to be surprisingly good.

Behind the ancient settlement the terrain rose to a plateau and wedged between the slopes of it was the famed valley, dry, grey and foreboding, as if it was to protect the dead from the living by reminding them that they should not enter alone with its sheer hostility alone. Other as one might expect from its name, there was no grandeur there, only rocks and sand and gravel, tedious to walk on and difficult for any kind of orientation. It was hard to judge the distances, even in this fairly enclosed space and though one would not get completely lost within the confines of the Valley of the Kings itself, it could easily lead to the one or other accidental detour.

My father, however, seemed to know his way around as very early the next morning we set off on horseback, using sturdy creatures that trotted along slowly but untiring, defying the heat of the rising and yet already burning desert sun above us. When we reached the valley it was still drenched in the shadows of the high cliffs surrounding it. To my surprise, however, we were not the first ones to arrive, as, with an outcry of delight, a man rushed towards us. It was easy to recognise him as the shrewd professor we were here to watch and keep in check.

Professor Norris wore, other than ourselves who have had the sense to adjust our attire to the hot and dry climate, he looked ready to go into the city on business, with his formal dark grey suit, his white gaiters and his top hat. I had to school my features into a neutral position at seeing him, as my mouth was about to drop open in incredulous astonishment at so little common sense.

"Ah, Holmes, here you are!" he cried out, hastening towards us and pulling his handkerchief to wipe his brow as he did so.

"Professor Norris!" Aldwin greeted, casting an amused glance in my direction, "I heard you are on a new project once again."

"Yes, yes, and this time I am absolutely sure I will find what I am looking for – an untouched grave. No-one has seen inside for millennia, let alone entered it. I have heard rumours about a secret chamber filled with numerous artefacts all made of gold and jewels. The man who gave me the information said that he knew someone who had seen it for himself."

"Does that not defy his claim, that no-one had seen what was in the grave for thousands of years?" I could not help asking, earning a chuckle from Harris and MacKenna, while my father's expression showed that he had been thinking pretty much along the same lines as one of his eyebrows was raised in a sceptical manner.

Professor Norris seemed unable to reply and seeing him so utterly confused by such a simple question, a question that either of my companions surely would have asked straight away, I suddenly knew exactly why he could not run a dig on his own, with only hired workmen. He had no practical bone in him whatsoever and very little common sense – if any at all. But both defects he compensated with an exuberance of enthusiasm and I soon found that this was the very problem.

"Come here, I think that this must be the spot my informant has described," Norris suddenly cried out, choosing not to answer my question.

We followed him to a slightly raised spot and he pointed at a dip in the surface where currently a few local workmen dug aside the gravel, carrying the debris away in battered looking papyrus baskets they were carrying on their heads, like many ancient cultures do. My father looked at the indicated spot, scratched his head and then turned towards his charge.

"Professor, I am sorry to say, that, while it is indeed a grave, it was excavated four years ago without finding anything and consequently was closed up again."

Professor Norris' face fell and he looked positively crestfallen. Wiping his brow again, he took out a tiny and battered looking notebook and searched through it till he seemed to have found the entry he had been looking for.

"Here it is, that is the information that was given to me and I am sure it is the right spot," he cried out, unwanting to believe he had been taken in.

And as it was, he had been not, he had simply managed to get lost and was in the wrong place. Aldwin, sighing deeply, took the book from his hands and glanced over the given coordinates, shook his head once again, and then strolled over to another location which bore the signs of having been worked fairly recently and from there on a good hundred yards further to the west to a spot that seemed completely untouched. How he could find his way around so easily was beyond me, as by now I myself, had lost all sense of orientation.

"Hereabouts should be the grave you are looking for – if it really exists, that is."

"Here?"

"Yes, it says a hundred steps to the west from Anthep's grave and that is the one over there," he pointed at the other excavation that currently lay abandoned.

"Oh, I thought Anthep's grave was the big one over there."

"No, that is Senthep's tomb and west would still be opposite of the rising sun," my father replied dryly.

I decidedly felt like a fish out of water, as hardly any of what was being said made any sense to me, something MacKenna seemed to sense as he turned stepped up to me, whispering: "Eventually you will get the hang of it, Mr Sigerson. At least to a point where you will be able to half-way understand what we are talking about."

"That is a great consolation indeed."

As the sun rose higher and higher and it got increasingly warmer, the valley which initially had been nice and shadowy began more and more to be an oven, where the heat got trapped till eventually, the sand was hot enough to fry an egg in. And fry eggs in it was exactly what we did when we sat down for a light meal after having moved all the workmen over from one spot to the other, all of them stoic enough not to even question why they now had to dig somewhere else. Or it might just as well be, that they had worked with Norris before, who knew?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

To my great surprise after a good week of digging through the rubble, we indeed found a tunnel at the very spot and from the expressions of the professional archaeologists I could see that none of them had expected to discover anything either. And still, there it was, carved into the bedrock, crudely at first, but the further we dug into it, the smoother the walls became till at last, three weeks later, the tunnel came to an end at a solid stone slab, firmly wedged into place.

It seemed that for once an excavation promised to be a complete success and thus it came as no surprise that when later in the evening we were all sitting together, that Professor Norris decided to pour out some decent wine to celebrate. We had not finished the first bottle, when a young boy of at most thirteen came running towards the little tavern where we had assembled and with a fearful outcry exclaimed in broken English, addressing my father: "Sir, we have just found a mummy, out in the desert."

Considering where we were, I did not think much about this information and neither seemed any of my companions.

"If it is out in the desert, then it certainly is of little interest to us," Harris mumbled, helping himself to another glass, seemingly determined to get drunk as quickly as possible.

Over the weeks I had found out, that his wife had filed for a divorce to be able to marry her new lover, who incidentally happened to be an old friend of her husband, which explained his abrasive behaviour well enough.

"No, you do not understand, Sir," the boy carried on, "It is different from the other ones. I think you should have a look."

"What, now?" Harris inquired, glancing up at the darkening sky.

In a few moments it would be completely dark and to roam around the desert after nightfall was certainly not a good idea. Or so I had assumed, as my father got up slowly, obviously tired from a long day of work and answered the child in Arabic. The conversation went on for several minutes, till Aldwin turned towards me and with a weary voice stated, that under these circumstances, it might be best to investigate straight away.

"Alright, do you want me to come with you?" I asked, knowing the answer full well.

"Yes, Mr Sigerson, I would greatly appreciate that."

We went to saddle the horses, the very same creatures that had brought us to the site and back each day, and with the guidance of the boy soon found ourselves at the foot of the plateau which about a mile to our left led to the Valley of the Kings. It was pitch dark, but for years I had never seen the stars shining brighter than they did here were no other light competed with their sparkle.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" my father asked and I could not but agree.

"Look, there is Orion and right next to it the Milky Way, as if it were a river in the sky. I have always thought how it resembles the Nile, as it cuts through this land and do you know what is most interesting?"

I, of course, did not know.

"I will show you once we return from our little expedition. It is a folly of mine, I am well aware of that, but I cannot help seeing a connection, even though Professor Aubrey, he is the one who heads the Cairo Museum, thinks me an imbecile."

At last, the boy made us stop, his face anxious as he pointed at a marker in the sand – a little white flag that moved only slightly in the calm night air.

"There it is, Sir," he said.

"Thank you, Ahmad."

The youth stayed with our horses while my father and I approached the spot and indeed, there, in the middle of the sand the top of a head stuck out and it was quite clear, why the boy had said, it was not one of the usual finds. This was not an ancient Egyptian mummy, but a natural one, dried and preserved by the ceaseless wind and hot desert sand in which it lay – and most and for all, it was the mummy of a blond man with closely cropped hair and a pair of broken glasses still on his nose.

It was a decidedly creepy sight, especially in the loneliness of the landscape around us and in the pitch darkness, where the only source of light stemmed from our little lantern.

"It looks as if you have some work to do, my son," my father whispered as if he did not dare to speak any louder.

"Yes, so it seems. Do you have any idea who this might be? Could it be one of your colleagues?"

"If so, then it is someone I have not yet met. For all we know, he can be dead for years."

"How long does it take for a body to mummify?"

"It depends on the conditions, Sherlock, in this climate usually quite fast. The dry air and constant wind dehydrate a body within days and that seems to be exactly what has happened here. After that a body can stay like that for many hundreds if not thousands of years without decaying any further, though I think we can safely rule that out, considering his glasses."

"Do you happen to know if there is a list of people who have gone missing in this area?"

"I know that there isn't. Not here in Luxor anyway. Any news of a missing person is reported back to England where they keep a list."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

We began to dig out the body, which at the same time was easy and difficult work. Easy, because the sand was nice and loose and it did not take much to shovel it aside, difficult, because it was so fine, that it had the tendency to seep back into place so that the work had to be done at least twice. At long last we had managed to excavate enough of the dead man to pull him out and bundle him up and while my father once more shared his mount with our trusted guide, I had the dubious honour to share mine with our find, that we had tied up behind my saddle, wrapped in a piece of canvas as to not cause too much of a stir.

It must have been an eerie picture how we rode along the desert and towards the glistening lights of Luxor, two men, a boy and a mummy all equally dispersed on two tired and shaggy looking horses.

A little more than an hour later we arrived at our accommodation, a small hotel, where we occupied a 'suite' of rooms, meaning two sparse bedrooms, and a sitting room, which led out onto a roof terrace, which afforded us a stunning view over the river and the fields and desert beyond. While the boy quickly disappeared in one of the many narrow side lanes, obviously more than relieved to, at last, be able to go home, we were left to stable the horses and find a place to store our gruesome discovery. Of course, the police would have been the most obvious choice to turn to, but as I soon found there was none and any civil servant that could have acted as such, and normally did when it was required, had gone home hours before.

At last, it was decided to bring it up and into our rooms, more precisely into my bedroom, while I shared the bed with my parent. Something that, for obvious reasons, I had not done since I was little when I often had sought the comfort and warmth of either my brother or uncle – well, father. Our cottage had been cold in winter, with its windows frosted over and the wind creeping through the tiny gaps of the old and creaky building, which I had loved so well and which for so many years had been my home.

As a youth, I had always wondered, why we lived in such reduced circumstances and how at the same time we could afford a public-school education. Only years later I found the answer to that question, when my brother opened to me, that the family fortune was all but gone. When tragedy struck my family, both my grandparents had still been alive and no arrangements had been made to give our uncle access to the money, which had been invested. But then the investment had gone downhill and without being able to access it, at last, had been reduced massively while only the little that Aldwin, as the younger son, had inherited and likewise invested was left. However, he had done so wisely and while we lived a simple country-life, we had never wanted for anything, least of all education. To support us even further, and to give us a proper home, my father had taken on a position as a teacher in a small school in the countryside, established by an elderly lady with a formidable temper, but good at heart, even though as a child I thoroughly disliked her. Now with the years passed since I looked back smiling at the shrewd widow with her petty and often peevish demands.

"So, that should do, don't you think?" my father inquired when we had put the mummy down, laying it out on the floor of my small bedroom, which held little more than a chest of drawers, a chair and a narrow single bed.

"Yes, I suppose," I replied dryly.

It was not as if we had much of a choice. And though I was tempted to look it over straight away, to my dismay I had found upon first arriving, that the lamps provided were insufficient to even read for any length of time before the eyes started hurting, and at any rate, clear brilliant sunlight would be much better for my examination, and it was not as if our guest would suddenly get up and go somewhere, nor would he, considering that he was mummified, start to smell all over the place, like the body in the suitcase back in Italy.

After we had washed we went outside again, to sit a while longer in the soothingly cool night air. The crickets chirped and the laughter of people drifted up to us. The moon rose slowly over the hills across the rivers and bathed everything in its silvery glow. It was a calm atmosphere, were it not for our peculiar visitor.

"Have you any way to determine for how long he has been lying there?" I asked, as though I had come across mummified bodies before, usually hanging up in the one or other attic, where the wind had dried them like it would a piece of fabric.

It was a sad testimony to find them hanging there, and often I had to wonder how it had happened, that no-one had missed them. Here the issue was a bit different, whoever he once had been and whatever he had died of, it would be difficult to get all the information we required. The desert around Luxor was a lonely place and after all, he might just have gotten lost or collapsed due to the heat, having taken too little water and that was all there was to this mystery. I would only see on the morrow if we could determine anything.

"That, Sherlock, is all but impossible, I am afraid. He clearly has died fairly recently, but whether it was half a year ago, or six, it would be impossible to tell." Aldwin had lit a pipe and so had I.

"How long does it take for a body to mummify naturally?"

"The artificial mummification process takes several weeks, usually about a month, considering the weather I would say, that the natural process takes roughly the same time. He must have been lying underneath the sand, but close to the surface, so that the wind could dehydrate him. The sand is like a sponge, taking up any moisture, I have seen it with animals." he replied thoughtfully. "But I dare say, if anybody is able to find out something, it is you, my boy."

In response I only huffed, and then suddenly it struck me, that one of their colleagues had gone missing. Even though that was not very likely, as my father surely would have recognised him from his hair and beard and the glasses, I still had to ask.

"Father, could it be, that it is this Mr Johnson that Harris and MacKenna have been talking about?"

"No, Johnson has dark hair, about the same colour as yours, perhaps even a bit darker, he was also clean shaven and wore no glasses. This certainly is not Mr Johnson."

Well, it would have been too easy a solution anyway. Eventually, we went to bed, tired from a long day in the heat and where so much had happened. There were several things going on in my mind, none of which regarded the case, and still, I refrained to address them. It would not do to get too sentimental, I missed England anyway, so why would I increase my homesickness by talking about all the things we had once shared? All the adventures, that as a child had been so exciting and new?


	7. Chapter 7

**Whoohoo, the countdown for Christmas has begun once again. And here are the next two chapters. Hope you like them and please leave me a review.**

Chapter 7

The sun rose and shone through our window and I soon stirred, used by now to the early hours we kept so we could rest a couple of hours during the day when the heat was too much to bear. My father needed a while longer to rise. He still looked much like the man who had been my guardian, but, of course, he had aged significantly over the last two decades – well, as had I. Where I had been a boy, I now was a man, and where he had been a man in his prime, only slightly older than myself, he now grew old. Still, there was much of his energy left and his mind was as sharp as it had ever been – as was his sense of humour.

We broke our fast, then send a note to our companions, that we would not join them for the day, and then proceeded to bring our silent guest onto the terrace, where we had prepared the sitting-room table. It was quite fortunate that said terrace was well sheltered by a low wall, which made it easy to observe what was going on below, while anybody looking up, could not see much if anything at all of what was going on there. And opposite us was nothing more than the stables belonging to the house we stayed in, bringing the occasional whiff of horse and cattle over to us.

Placing the bundle, which was surprisingly light, considering that it contained the remains of a grown man, we opened it and revealed, first of all, a formidable looking scorpion, that came threateningly towards us. The very same creatures which let us turn our boots upside down every night, so they would not crawl into them. And had one forgotten to take such measures, it was always advisable to check them carefully first, before stepping in.

"Oh great!" I cursed, reaching for my horsewhip.

"You don't want to do that, I can assure you. It will only get them angry and then we are in real trouble. Nasty little creatures they are, and so very sturdy."

With that, he took his walking stick which, though he rarely used it, stood right next to the door.

"And you think a stick is so much better?"

"No, but there is a trick to dealing with these beasts. Good to see, that I can still teach you the odd thing," he smirked in reply before he pressed down on the animal to fixate it and then, as the scorpion tried to sting the shiny piece of wood, my father bent down and quickly nipped off the poisonous sting.

"So, part one is done, now you can knock yourself out with the horsewhip, though I would say simply step on it, it's less of a hassle. By the way, it might be interesting for you to know, that the scorpions with the larger pincers are the more harmless ones, while the ones with the smaller ones, like this one, can easily be deadly."

"Could he have been killed by one of them?" I pointed at the dead man.

"Possibly, who knows?"

"Then let us have a look at him, shall we?"

What last night had been a mere shadow in the light of our tiny oil-lamp, today was a distinct human body, all dried up and yet, still with fairly recognisable facial features. There was little wonder, why mummies captivated man's imagination so, as they seemed almost trapped, cursed in a limbo between life and death.

The man was a fairly tall fellow, in life presumably taller than I, and also bulkier with his broad frame of shoulders and ribcage; and though his skin was discoloured, it was safe to assume that once it had been light. His sandy blond hair was cut in a military fashion, now that I looked closely and his beard and sideburns fit the profile. That he wore glasses, however, seemed to contradict this assumption. But he could, of course, have started to wear glasses, after he had joined the army, though unless one was an officer, this also would have led to a dismissal. No, considering where he had been found and judging by what was left of his clothing, he certainly had not been a foot soldier, but most likely an army doctor. It was the one occupation within the military, where, though they had to conform to the dress-code, they did not have to be in perfect physical health, meaning that amongst a bulk of soldiers usually, the bespectacled one was the one, one would want to find when injured. Watson had joked about it often enough, though his own eyesight was excellent.

So far so good, but though it was a clue, it was no more than a vague theory with too many unknown factors to determine anything as being certain. We carried on peeling away the layers that once must have been a decent suit, shirt and underclothes. All looked beaten and ragged now, but there was little doubt, that the light coloured suit had been of a good quality. The back was in better shape than the front, as the body had kept it from deteriorating due to the shifting sand, were it not for the dark rusty-brown stain and the distinct tear which at last solved the mystery of how he had found his death. He clearly had been shot in the back. The dry skin around his ribcage showed the corresponding wound left by the bullet, which considering its location, must have gone right through his heart.

It would have been an obvious conclusion to assume that the killer had been a good shot, but from experience, I knew that this was not necessarily the case. But at least it was a clue and as such, I dictated it to my father, who had offered to take notes.

He had neither wallet nor papers on him, though we might have missed them out in the sands, it certainly would be necessary to return there once we had finished with examining the body and at last hand it over to the officials.

There was little more to find out, at present, and I have to admit, I was slightly irked by the fact, that I had none of my usual aids to resort to, only my bare eyes and a magnifying glass, the very same one, I noted with some amusement, with which I once, and quite accidentally, had set fire to my guardian's shirt. I felt like a fish out of water, or rather a fish swimming in a foreign pond.

Back in England, I knew how to read traces, I was able to determine, at least roughly, where a person came from by the smallest of clues. Here in Egypt, I was lacking this knowledge and was dependent on my father's help. While Italy had still been somewhat familiar ground, this now was a completely different world. A different culture, different climate and vastly different landscape I had to deal with. But anyhow, it would be interesting to widen my knowledge, one never knew what one would come across in the future.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

At last, we made our way over to the small administrative building where but a handful of men oversaw the people around them, caring as much for the taxes to be paid punctually, as well as the licences which allowed private antiquarians, like Professor Norris, to dig alongside the official, professional lot.

"It is really a shame that all one needs is an excess of money and that is it. Everyone can barge in and leave a battlefield in his wake – or hers. Though Lady Carlisle is careful not to destroy anything and most meticulous in her work."

"What, women work here as well?" I was incredulous, never having realised that a lady might be interested in such kind of occupation.

"Yes, she has attended university and though without a degree, she is actually a pleasure to work with. Her late husband was different, he came, saw and – well, I would like to say conquered, but messed up would presumably be more accurate."

I laughed. My father's sense of humour was as witty and sharp as it had ever been and his sense for irony was also much the same.

"So, that is why it was such an urgent matter to come here and put a leash on Professor Norris?"

"Exactly, though he is one of the more harmless ones. He has too little money to cause any real damage, as he has to keep his excavations on small scale. He is an enthusiast, but at least he can be reasoned with."

"Plus he doesn't have much sense," I mumbled and in turn made my father chuckle.

We reached the small official building, which looked so out of place due to its very British architecture, that for a moment I could only stare at it in confusion.

"Our people have the tendency to put their stamp on everything they conquer, whether they have done so completely or, as here have been asked to support the native government. Cairo is so riddled with these buildings that one can almost think one is back home." Aldwin explained, pushing open the door.

The inside was much as I had expected, judging from the exterior, though the people here seemed to work with greater efficiency as we had to wait less than a minute till we were asked inside one of the offices and found ourselves opposite an official. The man had a no-nonsense attitude and after telling him what we had found and observed so far, while he had been taking notes, he looked up at us sharply, before pronouncing that he would have someone look into it.

"If I may suggest, Mr Phillips, Mr Sigerson here might be the best man to take care of the matter," my father suggested, making the man frown.

"Is he a detective then?"

"No, Sir, I am a diplomat, but as such have a bit of experience to deal with complicated matters," I replied.

"Be as it may, I still have to inform my superiors and see what they decide to do."

"And the body?"

"Will be picked up shortly."

We left and while I was tempted to go back to the place where the body had been found, my father had to go and check on Professor Norris and on the progression of the excavation, which had been surprisingly fertile.

I gave into my fate and one and a half hours later we found ourselves in the Valley of the Kings, where the work had progressed but little. Digging through ancient rubble seemed tedious work but at last, by the end of the day, we seemed to have reached the end of the passage we, and the many workmen, had been clearing so meticulously as a solid stone slab blocked our way.

"That is promising," Norris huffed, wiping his face ever so often.

It certainly would have been, were it not for the scratches on the ground that indicated that at one point or another said flagstone had been shifted. I said as much to my father as we were on our way back home, leaving behind several armed guards, so no-one would be able to take advantage of our work and open the chamber beyond without us present.

"I have seen them as well, and I am well prepared for yet another disappointment. Though there is always the slight possibility, that the scratches have come from bringing the stone there in the first place. - I know it would not explain, why they are not parallel to the passage, but they might have had some troubles fitting it in there. We will see on the morrow."

Professor Norris was less reluctant to call it a complete success already, though none of the other, professional archaeologists joined in his cheer.

"So, Holmes, have you found your mummy?" Harris suddenly asked when once again we sat in the small tavern, this time to discuss how to proceed with the grave.

"Yes," I answered without thinking, my mind too occupied with thinking over the few facts available to me.

It also did not help, that I had eaten very little and at the same time drunken three glasses wine on an almost completely empty stomach. Thinking back to young Mr Bertram it seemed that I was not much more sensible than the young man had been with his coffee. I needed to be more cautious.

"Yes, as Mr Sigerson has just said, we have found the body, and it indeed is an unusual find, thank goodness those boys roam the area so frequently for us." my father answered with some presence of mind.

"And what is so unusual about the find?" Professor Norris huffed, seemingly indignant that the subject had shifted from his work to something he had no share in. "To find a mummy in Egypt is not exactly special, is it?"

"No, but what makes it special is, that this mummy has been shot in the back and judging by the clothes has only died very recently."

"You cannot be serious!"

"But I am. We have reported to the officials this morning and they are now taking care of the matter. But we are not talking ancient Egyptian mummy here, but naturally mummified murder-victim, as it appears."

"Dear me, how very unpleasant!" Norris said, wiping his forehead. "But alas, of little interest. There are more important things, are there not?"

I stared at him with some incredulity but refrained from stating that a recent murder-victim certainly should take precedence over something that has been forgotten in the desert sands for thousands of years. Though I had to say that by then, my father's occupation began to intrigue me more and more.

It was McKenna who pointed out the obvious, while Harris looked at me somewhat shrewdly.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

For a couple of days, I did nothing but watch the men work as they tirelessly as they scraped away at the joints so they could remove the flagstone and at last enter what they thought was an as yet untouched grave. The archaeologists took turns, as the air inside the tunnel was stuffy and hot. But all the while I thought about the seemingly young man, whom we had found discarded so unceremoniously and on the fifth day, in which the work at the tomb had progressed but little, at last, I had my father convinced to return to the site where we had found him, so I could examine it further.

"I am not sure you will find anything there, my son. The desert is so very different from our good old English soil. It was but mere chance the body was found and if there is anything more, there is no telling we might be able to find it also. That is why these boys roam the desert frequently, as ever so often something turns up unexpectedly where the week before there had been no trace of it. The shifting wind and moving sand, as you have seen when we dug out the unfortunate man, make it difficult for us. And I fear even more difficult for you, Sherlock, as you will have no traces to work with." my father cautioned me, as we got onto our horses once again.

"I have feared as much. And I also have to admit, that I am not quite sure where to start with my investigation. Have you heard anything from the officials yet?" I replied, adjusting my stirrup, which had a tendency to tangle due to the fact that its leather strap, after breaking for whatever reason, had been replaced by a simple cord.

"No, I have not. Moreover, I am surprised they have picked him up already."

"And there I was thinking that they work more efficiently over here."

"No, definitely not. If anything, they are even slower than they are back home. It is more the fact that they prefer one to be out of there as soon as possible, so they can nap in peace." he laughed, edging on his horse.

The spot was soon found again, as we had marked it, for any official investigation as well as our own convenience. In the broad daylight the white sand was glaring and I was glad to have my sunglasses on me, which I swapped with the plain ones that funnily enough resembled those my father was wearing as his eyesight had gotten weaker over the years. There really was little one could make out, but the location seemed to be an interesting one. Not far from us there seemed to be the remnants of an ancient structure, while in the distance Luxor was just about visible. The entrance to the Valley of the Kings was hidden, but not too far from here. Had he been an antiquarian?

Together we dug around the sand, but nothing surfaced. It was incredibly frustrating, just as my father had anticipated. But it was also him, who now suggested walking the area, pointing out that if the man had resurfaced recently, so might have any of his possessions.

He was right, as after an hour we had found a battered looking canvas bag which held remnants of food, a bottle of water and – an army issue revolver with the initials T. D. edged into it.

"Do you think they will let me retrieve the bullet from the body?" I enquired, wondering whether our victim or his killer had left the bag behind to be swallowed by the desert.

"Yes, I presume so. As long as it is no hassle for them, it should be fine. And besides, as you are travelling as a diplomat, you can easily argue that you have been sent here to find John Smith and that the man we have dug out here, might have been killed by him, or is him, or whatever."

"Who is John Smith?"

"The sun is obviously scorching your brain, Sherlock. Don't be so daft. John Smith is pretty much the most common name in England, hence it should do perfectly for a ruse."

"I do indeed need a sip of water," I chuckled, wondering how my father managed to deal with the heat year in year out.

"Oh, believe me, it was difficult at first. But don't forget, I have been here for almost twenty years now, so eventually, I got used to it."

"What is that structure over there?"

"The Temple of Ra, it is called, though no-one is really sure what it was used for. It seems to be some kind of observatory – which reminds me, I told you the other day about the Milky Way, have I not?"

Puzzled I answered that he had.

"Well, the ancient Egyptians were very accurate astronomers and put a lot of work and effort into observing the sky. One has to understand how significant nature and the Nile, in particular, is for this country, so to have an accurate calendar was quite important to plan ahead and organise the building of all these magnificent erections, lest they would coincide with the planting and harvesting of the crops, when the workforce was needed elsewhere."

At that point, I had to admit that I grew slightly impatient.

"Oh, no, I will get to it now, Sherlock. If you look at a star chart and place a map of Egypt next to it, you will find that the Milky Way and the River Nile seem to take the same turn as one flows through the night sky and the other through the deserts of Northern Africa. But moreover, if you then find the three big pyramids, you will see that they seem to fit the same pattern as the belt of Orion, which in ancient Egypt was supposed to be Osiris, who, as you might know by now, is the God of the deceased in their mythology."

With all I had heard so far about ancient Egyptian culture, their advanced technology and complex religious as well as administrative system, I would not be surprised if my father was right. But being naturally a sceptic, as was my father, we both agreed that it could just be a very formidable coincidence, due to whatever reason. Perhaps even such practical ones as the bedrock on which the monumental buildings were built running in a curve and making it necessary for the architects to follow it, even if it meant the structures were not properly aligned.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"But that does not exactly help us, does it?" I, at last, enquired with a wry grin.

"No, not in the least." Aldwin admitted, "But I thought it might interest you."

While it was an interesting piece of information, I rather preferred to keep my mind occupied with the matter at hand. A man had lost his life after all, and no-one seemed particularly shaken by or interested in it.

A couple of days prior, I had written to my brother about our find and requested that he might have a look at the records back in London. Knowing him, he would certainly be thrilled to have his comfortable routine disrupted, which consisted of going to work, visiting his club and then return home. That was his life ever since his wife had died, not saying that it had been much different when Anna had still been alive. Why I suddenly remembered her of all people, I had no idea. Perhaps it had something to do with my father's statement the night before, that he would have liked to see both Mycroft and me happy, meaning married with children. In my brother's case, I have to say, that he was actually happier unattached, while lately, I had often thought about... - ah well, there was little use dwelling on something that I could and certainly not should have at the moment. It was a sentimental notion brought about by our recollections of my childhood. A happy childhood, I have to say, even though we had not been overly rich.

I had to struggle to set my mind back to the task at hand, though it had become so hot, that this was quite a challenge. We made our way over to the ruins to have a look around there. If the dead man had been out here, this might easily have been his destination. What else would one want out here?

There was little left of the building, which had been small in comparison to the many other sites we had seen. There was also only little left of it and soon it surely would be completely lost to the desert from whence some three years ago it had been dug out.

"It were the very boys who have now found the body, who have found the ruins," my father informed me. "Is it not funny that something as big as a building can get lost over time, only to be found by coincidence? Even back home in England that happens quite frequently. There are legends about a castle but no-one knows where to find it and one day someone digs up his garden and there it is."

"I can well imagine that," I answered, wandering around what once must have been the rooms of the building.

As said, it was not very large, but it once must have been well built and the walls still bore the remnants of hieroglyphic painting, slowly fading from the influence of the sun, which shone at them mercilessly. Working here must have been horrible.

By now I felt quite parched despite the frequent drinks of water we have had. Richard the third had once cried out for a horse in exchange for a kingdom, I was tempted to do the same, only that I would give a kingdom in exchange for a light drizzle and a good impermeable fog. - A fog that currently seemed to blur my mind, as I started to see without observing anything.

"You don't look too well, my boy," my father, at last, remarked, after I had wiped my face repeatedly. "I think we should return to Luxor before you suffer a heat stroke."

Shrugging my shoulders I could not but agree with him. My head ached, my mouth was dry and my blood pressure was going down. Not a good state to be in in the middle of the desert about one and a half hours from the nearest settlement. And indeed, we were just on our way out, navigating around the rubble and walls to get to the remnants of the pillared doorway, when I could go no further. My body, even after almost a month here now, was still not used to the climate, other than Aldwin's, who seemed to take the heat in his stride. Heavily I leaned against one of the pillars, heaving, my vision blurry and my head aching so badly I was basically rendered helpless. The gust of water from one of the bottles we had carried with us, made it slightly better, but it was clear that we needed to get home as soon as possible.

I propped myself up to make the few steps to where our horses were tethered when my hand felt something odd. The stone column had a smooth polished surface, but where I had placed my palm, it was rough and ragged and when I looked at it closely I saw a bullet hole, the bullet still stuck in it. Sighing my father pried it loose, before helping me mount my horse.

It was quite a feat to stay atop my mount, but at last, we had made it back home, where I literally dropped into bed.

I woke up in the middle of the night, the cool air drifting in through the open window. Getting up I slipped into a pair of trousers and a clean shirt and made myself comfortable on our terrace to think things over.

What did we have? A man who had been in his prime and who had in all likeliness been an army doctor who had been shot in the middle of the desert within some ruins that had long been mapped and then abandoned by any antiquarian or archaeologist. That was not much. The canvas bag we had found presumably belonged to him, but there was nothing else that could give us a hint even to his identity as yet. He could, of course, have been robbed, but it could just as well be, that his valuables had been taken to make it look like a robbery. The bullet we had found indicated, that there had been a shooting and that eventually he had been killed on his way back to town. But what had he wanted out in the desert in the first place? Had he gone on his own, or did he have a companion? And if the latter, what had become of him? Would we find him buried in the desert sand as well?

Lighting my pipe I pondered on the problem over and over again. At least the temperature had gone down significantly and my headache had at last ceased.


	11. Chapter 11

**So, here are the last few chapters of this little adventure. As said, I am not very well versed in ancient Egyptian history, nor with what happened in Khartoum during the Mahdi-uprising, but as it comes up in the original stories and as Holmes eventually did travel to Khartoum on request, I thought I might as well refer to it. It's actual history, however, is not really relevant to this case anyway, as all people mentioned are merely fictional, safe for General Gordon. So should they resemble any real historical figure, it was quite accidental.**

 **So, I hope you enjoyed this little tale and I would really appreciate it, if you could leave me a review. Thank you ever so much. Nic**

Chapter 11

I was still up and sitting on the roof when the sun rose across the river and the ancient town began stirring. Not being in the mood for yet another day out in the heat I opted to stay at home, or rather go and visit the officials to inquire whether there had been any development.

"You are quite an optimist, Mr Sigerson," Harris laughed and I could not help noticing that he was limping quite badly. "To think that the officials would find out anything is beyond likely. As a matter of fact, it is out of the question."

As it was, he was right. Not only had there not been any development yet, they had not even begun to investigate.

"What point is it, to ask around about a man who seemingly is not missed?" the grumpy looking clerk asked when I had stated my plight.

"The body is still here?"

It was, and I was generously granted another look at the dead man. I enquired if they planned for an autopsy.

"No, whatever for?" the man said stoically.

"Someone shot him in the back. Normally that would require a murder investigation." I replied with some incredulousness.

"Our local doctor refused it, said he has enough on his hands to take care of the living."

I was greatly tempted to ask if perhaps I could then have a look, though I was lacking a reason why a diplomat has such a set of skills as being able to perform an autopsy. But I had not counted on the indifference of the official, who with a shrug of his shoulders told me, that if I wanted to have an internal examination of the body, I would have to take matters into my own hands. Now that was lucky and so it was, that I began with my task, in which I was momentarily joint by Mr Harris, who with his injured foot had stayed behind.

"Didn't look where I was going and slipped. Blasted terrain!" he grumbled as I pulled away from the sheet.

"So, what are you doing here?" I could not help asking.

"I was bored, Mr Holmes, and curious."

I froze, my whole body growing tense.

"Your secret will be safe with me. But you should refrain from sitting on the terrace talking and using your real name."

"Thank you for the advice, Mr Harris."

"Pleasure. You have once helped my sister out of dire straights without so much as asking to be paid, as she had nothing and I was abroad, so she could not apply to me. She has died since, but till the last, she had not forgotten your kindness."

"I have to admit, that I cannot recall a Miss Harris," I admitted.

"Ah, that is because her name was Mrs Thomas Granger."

Now that case I could remember. Thomas Granger being an abusive husband, who had taken out an insurance for his wife and then tried to kill her – which I had been fortunate to prevent. Though I still have to admit, that the man had been quite inventive when it came to making his wife appear deranged.

"So, what are you looking for, Mr Sigerson?"

"The bullet that killed him would be a good starting point. After that, I would like to see, whether it fits the bullets in the army revolver we have found in close vicinity to where the body has been found and after that, compare it to a third bullet we have located in one of the ruins close to where the body had lain. I would have done so immediately had I known that there would be no official inquiry."

"What counts as an official inquiry here and back home are vastly different things," Harris chuckled.

"Yes, I figured out as much."

We got to work and as there was nothing else to see safe for the shrivelled up inner organs in which at last we found the bullet that had killed him, and which indeed had perforated his heart. To be more precise his left ventricle.

"It is odd to see a mummy with its organs still in place. The Egyptians took them out – only in the late dynasties did they get sloppy and left them. Which presumably is a good reason, why those mummies, though significantly younger, are less well preserved than the much earlier ones."

"You have frequently been here and you have been a military man yourself, you would not happen to have come across this man?"

"Since the fall of Khartoum, many former military men have stayed behind and have taken to be adventurers. This might be one of them."

"Was that how you have ended up here?"

"Kind of. I originally studied history, then joined the army, was injured returned home to England and got a position at the British Museum. Over time they obviously thought I was better suited to come here to acquire new exhibits for them instead of pouring over historical scriptures and eventually, so I was sent here. Eventually being nothing more than a business agent got too boring for me, so I have taken up digging instead."

"Which sounds decidedly more interesting," I agreed.

As it turned out, the bullets from the man's revolver did not fit the bullet which had pierced his heart, but the one we had found lodged in the pillar did, which at last gave a hint to what must have happened.

As it appeared, taking everything into account, the man must have been ambushed and been fired at, at which he had taken flight and been shot in the back in the process. But why? What had he found, or what had he known to make it necessary to silence him in such a way? That I could not possibly tell unless I found more evidence or got more data about him to work with.

Once more I planted myself on the easy chair on our terrace, sitting in the shadow and carefully avoiding the sun. Where could I start gathering information? And with whom? Back home I would know, but here I was at a loss. This place seemed like an entirely different world. A world where history was more important than anything regarding the living.

But perhaps that was the very starting point. Who came here, was interested in the place's history and in the treasures rumoured to lie buried beneath the sand and gravel. Surely not every group of archaeologists or antiquarians was so amiable as the one I travelled with. After all, there were ruthless people everywhere, and many an exhibit in the museums all over the world were acquired in a dubious manner.

"Oh for sure, Mr Sigerson, there are many dodgy practices when it comes to that," Harris agreed, having joined me. "Why do you think we leave a guard behind when we leave the excavations in the evening? It is not because we think that the dead kings might wake up and take flight."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

And so the next days I spent in searching the meagre documents that the local authorities held, while my father and Mr Harris asked their way around their colleagues for any kind of information. In the end, one crucial bit of information came from an unlikely source – namely Professor Norris.

"Oh, these ruins there!" he had cried out. "Yes, I have heard that there is supposed to be a treasure there, though I have to say I doubt it."

That presumably was a first. Professor Norris seemed rather inclined to believe every tidbit of information regarding treasure that was thrown his way, though he showed little perseverance when it came to hunting it down. After the first bout of overexcited enthusiasm, he soon lost interest when there were difficulties to encounter, and that was currently the case with the grave he was supposed to be excavating. But to scrape away the plaster was more painstaking than he had expected and while I myself was stunned at the time it took, while my father and his companions seemed to be quite content and cheerful still.

"Where have you heard about this supposed treasure?" I asked trying to appear as unconcerned as I possibly could.

"Oh, there is a group of young Englishmen. Where they live I do not know, but they often meet at the casino."

Said casino I had till now avoided, though not consciously. I simply had never been in the habit of gambling and thus had not felt the urge to get near there. Now, this would change.

It was lucky, however, that McKenna frequented there on occasion and so I got myself ready for a night out, well aware that the place catered for more than just the average gambler. The red light in one of the upper windows was a testimony to more carnal pleasures to be found there and I wondered what my young friend usually sought there.

The casino was located not too far from where my father and I stayed, close to the embankment where the boats landed that supplied this desert settlement. On the outside, it was unassuming enough, but entering it, I soon found that it was everything but on the inside. It looked like an odd mix of a Pall Mall gentleman's club and a brothel, and with that pretty much as the establishment, it was. There were pool tables, a roulette wheel, tables where men played at cards as well as a small stage where an oriental beauty performed a belly dance.

"I hope you have come here in expectation of losing a substantial amount of money, Sigerson, for this lot knows how to cheat."

"I am well aware that when one sits down at one of these tables the likeliness of winning is disproportionate to the one losing and that the latter, from a logical point of view, is more likely, the stalks depending on how many players there are," I replied calmly.

"You did not strike me as a gambler," McKenna remarked, steering over to one of the tables where there seemingly was space for the two of us amongst a group of young men, most of them already considerably intoxicated.

All the better. Sober men are careful, while drunken ones often suffered from verbal diarrhoea. One could only hope. This fact was exactly what had made us set out quite late and it seemed to work.

"Ah, McKenny..." a dark-haired man with a red sunburnt face cried out, as his gaze fell on my companion.

"McKenna," my guide corrected.

"Ah, tush Paddy, who's that with you? New love interest?"

"Very funny," McKenna answered, picking up the cards he had just been dealt.

"Ah come, we are all men of the world, are we not?" the man carried on, smirking.

"Talk for yourself."

"But that is exactly what I am doing, McKenny. So, how have you ended up here," I was at last addressed?

"Same way as you, I can imagine."

"What? Did you come here swimming on a crocodile's back then?"

"No, I preferred a boat, much more comfortable than to deal with all the spines in one's backside." I grinned, glancing at the cards in my hand, observing the tiny markings that showed me that someone did not play fairly.

"And what are you here for?"

"Building castles in the sand."

"You are a quick one, are you not?"

"Depends on what you refer to, I would say. I am certainly quick with some things and rather slow with others."

"Hear, hear."

"And you? What are you doing here?"

"Playing cards, as you can see."

This went on for some time, McKenna had left a while ago, presumably to seek out the other service this establishment provided, while I stayed where I was, playing cards, pretending to drink and most and for all listening to what was being said. After several hours, I had little doubt it must be some time early in the morning, the unruly man, of whom I by now knew was Mr Rendall, Lord Warbrook's oldest son, and another fellow named Rowland Cain and I moved over to the bar to drink some more. Or in my case to discard of the brandy in an inconspicuous manner. How lucky that they seemed to have a great liking for pot plants hereabouts.

"So, you have forgotten to tell us, why you are here, Sigerson."

"That is because I have no particular reason to be here," I replied, truthfully.

"So you just happened to come along and think that here is a nice place to stay?"

"It is at least an interesting place to stay, is it not?"

"It is a dangerous place to stay, Mr Sigerson," Cain spat, his brows knitted in a frown.

"Oh come now, dangerous?"

"You have no idea what Colonel Luton is up to, have you?"

"No," I replied carefully.

"Ah, and better it is, believe me. A dangerous lot that."

"So there is more than one?"

"Of course there is. They have been around ever since Khartoum fell and some say they got away with a booty worth several thousand Pounds. But, of course, no-one could prove that as yet."

All of a sudden a heavy hand descended on the countertop next to us as a man who clearly was said Colonel Luton slammed down his fist.

"And since that is so, Mr Rendall, you would do good to keep your gob shut," he growled.

Colonel Luton was an intimidating figure, though he was not particularly tall. But his bulk spoke of a strong man and his face bore the signs of a choleric fellow, with his heavy brow-ridges and the wide nose, his close-set eyes and the thin-lipped mouth. But alas, by now I had a good idea of what might have happened as everything fit just perfectly, all coming back to the one common denominator that was the military. Now I just had to find definite proof to close my case and that I would only do in the desert sands, over at the ruins where the as yet unknown man had lost his life.

Giving up on finding McKenna, who seemed to have more stamina than I would have given him credit for, I walked home and sank into bed just as the first sliver of light appeared over the hills to the east. It would not do to go unprepared. If one man had found his death there, so could I, and easily considering how little I knew about the area and about what was going on.

I had, of course, heard about Colonel Luton and his regiment, and that his actions in the battle that had cost Gordon Pasha his life had been most dubious. Yet nothing could ever be proven and thus he still roamed free, as did his associates.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sleeping till late I only got up in the afternoon and began planning my next step carefully. But from whatever side I approached it, it became increasingly clear, that I would have to go back once again and look at the very sight of where, in all likeliness, the unknown man had been shot. - The ruins in the middle of the desert.

My father in the meantime had spent his day at Professor Norris' dig and came home with the news, that at last they had opened the chamber and that while it clearly had been robbed at some point, presumably shortly after the initial burial, that it was at least not empty and that everything that had been bulky and heavy had been left almost exactly where it had originally been put. That at least was something.

"So, what follows now?" I asked curiously, as in my mind their work here was now done.

But that seemed to be far from true, as it was explained to me, that now they had to make an inventory, had to catalogue everything before removing it, and especially make a drawing of how the chamber looked, meaning where everything had been placed as to get a better understanding of the ancient burial-rituals.

"While digging everything out is strenuous work, Sherlock, assessing what we have found is tedious to do," Aldwin explained, pouring both of us a glass of fresh peppermint tea, which seemed to be quite a traditional drink hereabouts and which was wonderfully refreshing at any rate.

"Where are the records of these digs kept?" I inquired, suddenly recalling that my father had said that the said ruins had been excavated some years ago.

"Mainly in Cairo, though there are some here as well, so the officials can keep track of what has been dug already and what not."

That at last was good news, though there was, of course, the slight possibility that exactly those papers that would interest me, were not here in Luxor. But at least there was a sliver of light and one could always hope, could one not?

"So, what have you found out last night? I hope you had a bit of fun at least."

"Ah well, it was not too bad, I presume, though I can imagine better past times than to sit around and gamble. But yes, I have found out something which might help us."

My father looked at me shrewdly, as if he wanted to say that gambling was not the only thing one could do at the casino, but refrained from getting more explicit.

"And?"

"I have met with a couple of people, and the name Colonel Luton was mentioned. Now I have heard about him and his not exactly heroic deeds during the battle of Khartoum, but being a bad strategist and soldier does not fall into my line of work at all, whatever I might think of such a man," I replied.

"No, I suppose not. He has never been tried by a military tribunal, so I would say his excuse was good enough. And after all many of his men did fight bravely and died alongside Gordon."

"Very true. Did you know, that he seems to have an interest in archaeology?"

"I have heard of it, but have never met the man. And I have never known of him doing any excavations. Most tourists who are coming here, are interested in what we do, but would not want to join us at all."

With the heat and the physically challenging side of my father's occupation, I was little surprised at that statement.

"Anyway, I have heard rumours, that he got away with a large amount of money and that the most likely place he has hidden it away, is in the ruins we have visited. Do you think there could be some truth in it?"

Aldwin thought for a moment before answering: "Yes, why not? I presume you want to go there again?"

I nodded, reaching for his map of the area and spread it out on our table.

"We are here, there is the Valley of the Kings and these presumably are the ruins?"

"Yes."

"Could you point out the place, where we have found the body?"

With little hesitation my father did so, remarking that within a radius of about sixty yards that should be it.

"Wonderful."

"And before you ask, this is the side where you have discovered the bullet hole."

That would indeed have been my next question. Not that I thought it would be of any great significance. The place was far out in the desert, which was just as deserted as its name would suggest and far away from both the town and the major archaeological site. No, it did not matter much indeed for there would have been little chance of anybody observing the murder.

Sipping on my tea I stared into space and then back at the map and suddenly I knew I had been wrong. The location of the bullet hole was significant, of course! Not for avoiding witnesses, but from making out, where the men had been when the crime had taken place. And with that, it might give me a good hint, as to where I had to look for the supposed treasure. Surely, if the dead man had not been onto something, it would have hardly been necessary to shoot him.

Leaning back I tried to recall the location, though with the heat stroke I had suffered, that was none too easy. There was little left of the building, and still, what remained of the walls, was high enough at places to obscure one's sight. The hole I had, quite accidentally found, might not be the only one there, but it clearly showed, that both men, victim and killer, had been inside the ancient monument. Now the mummy we had found, had been shot in the back, so either he had been running from the place, which would have been plain stupid, as there would have been no shelter at all while staying inside of the walls would have given him sufficient cover to be able to shoot back. After all, he had been armed himself, as I was quite sure the satchel belonged to the unfortunate man. And on top of that, I was quite sure that he had been a military man and even had he only been an army doctor, he still would have had some training and would have known to seek cover.

Everything seemed to fall into place, though definite proof still evaded me, and till I had searched the ruins once again, this time at least knowing what I might be looking for, there would be none.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

How my father had managed to persuade his companions to let him go with me the next day, I did not quite know, but I had an inkling, that it had something to do with Harris. We set out early, the sun had barely risen over the hills, and reached our destination about an hour later. In the golden glow of the early sun, the ruins, build in the local yellow sandstone, looked stunning. Wind and sand had polished their surface and while in consequence, it had destroyed and wall paintings or carvings, it had produced a beautifully smooth surface – at least on two sides, obviously the direction from where the wind usually blew.

The little marker we had left on the spot where we had found the body, was almost invisible under the pile of sand which had gathered around it and grown slowly over the last couple of days. It must have been equally quick with the body, if not quicker for its larger bulk.

I have to say, I felt uneasy entering the place, not so much for me, but more for my father, though he had assured me, that he was well used to danger. I hoped he knew what he was getting himself into in this instance. Though knowing him, he presumably did. After all, he was the one who had been living here for almost two decades, not me.

Finding the bullet hole again, I determined from what direction the shot must have come, and that had it been directed at the dead man, it must have missed his upper torso, which could either mean he had been moving or that the shooter had been a bad one. The former was more likely, though I kept the latter in mind. There was but one wall behind which the killer could have hidden at that point, and I was sure he had done so. I climbed over the low structure and found myself in a rather tiny enclosure that was blocked off on all sides by walls of varying height, as at one point the lintel of what must have been the doorway, had come down together with parts of the roof and now obstructed the only way in that had been there in ancient times. And fortunately for me, the wind did hardly reach here, meaning that no sand had piled up in it. I took out the sieve, Aldwin had suggested we should take and began sifting through the loose sand and quickly found what I had been looking for – a bullet casing. I had been right, this had indeed been where the shooter had sat. I also found a couple of cigar stumps, though they were a brand unfamiliar to me. I pocketed my findings before climbing out of the small space again trying to make out, where the now dead man must have walked.

"Sherlock!" my father suddenly hissed, and with a strained face pointed in the direction of Luxor.

In some distance, I could see three men approach on horseback with some speed, or rather as if the devil was after them. Immediately I tensed, repercussions of my adventure at the Reichenbach-Fall resurfacing. That was not good at all. Pulling my father aside, we ducked behind another low wall and waited anxiously for what would happen. Needless to say, that we had not gone unarmed, as, in the light of what must have happened here, it would have been close to suicidal. Not that it was much better now, truth be told. If we left the ruins now, there would be no place to hide for more than a mile around. We had to stay, cost what it may.

The closer the group came, the more familiar they seemed to me, till at last, I recognised not only McKenna and Harris but also Lord Warbrook, whom I had met down at the casino two nights ago. For a moment I was speechless, never had I considered the possibility of either of my travelling companions were in on the crime.

But before the thought could become a certainty, one of the men, I think it was Harris, cried out: "Don't shoot! We are here to warn you and to help you. You have been set up and as it looks at the moment, you are in at the deep end of things. They are about a half-mile behind us, perhaps a bit more, but not by much."

And indeed, there, seemed to be a group of about five men, that appeared to have been hard on their heels, previously hidden by one of the shallow dunes around here.

"They are coming from the other side as well," McKenna panted, jumping off his horse and seeking shelter.

"Then you are crazy to have come here," I gasped, touched by their unexpected camaraderie.

"You have asked me once, how I came to be here, and now I will give you my answer, Mr Sigerson. I have come here to find out, what has happened to my brother, who had the honour to fight and fall alongside General Gordon. But I have to admit, that till now I have had little success," Harris replied. "I have heard rumours, but never anything definite."

"And you?" my father turned towards Lord Warbrook.

"Oh, I think I was just bored of my insignificant existence."

"Well, then let us hope it will be boring no longer," I replied wryly, wondering if I really could trust the man or not.

"Actually, it was Lord Warbrook who tipped us off." McKenna chimed in.

"Yes, I did. I happened to see, that one of Luton's men was lingering around the place you are staying in and after your inquiries the other night, I thought it of some significance. And when there is the Colonel involved, it hardly ever bodes well."

"Let me guess, you have had some trouble with him as well?" my father inquired, looking equally doubtful as I felt.

"Yes," was all the noble man's reply.

After that, the conversation ceased as we waited breathlessly for what might become of us, though there was the advantage that while our pursuers were out in the open we were, at least till the first shot fell, well hidden. Sneaking around the wall, I glanced over towards the other side to see whether McKenna's information was correct, which unfortunately it was. Two more men approached from there – on foot. Not much of a surprise considering that they must have come by boat. They were worryingly close.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Lifting my index first to my mouth to indicate silence, I then pointed in the direction behind me and raised another finger to indicate that there were two men approaching from that direction. Harris nodded and was quickly by my side.

"If you take care of the one to the right, I take the other, Sigerson," he whispered, reaching for his revolver, as I reached for mine, or rather the one we had found in the desert.

It would be some kind of perverse satisfaction to use it against the very men that had taken its owner's life. We cowered behind the wall in the hopes that we had not been seen and indeed, we seemed to be in luck there, as the two chaps carelessly glanced over the wall to see how best they could climb over it, only to have the butt-ends of our guns descend on their heads and thus rendering them unconscious.

"We will have to bind these idiots," Harris remarked with a smirk on his thin lips.

We did so easily with the help of their own bootlaces.

"Do you know who they are?" I asked as we hurried back where the other three were waiting.

"Yes, one is called Thomas Gavin, used to be a lieutenant. The other I don't know, but I am sure to have seen him before."

On the other side the men had gotten ever so much closer and now I could clearly distinguish the bulky form of the colonel flanked by the four others. No weapons showed, though there was little doubt that they were carrying any. The two we had immobilised, bound and gagged had been armed with, little surprise there, army revolvers, and the group approaching us would surely be armed the same way.

And indeed, they were about a hundred yards from us, when a shot was fired and the deep and booming voice of their leader sounded, cutting through the expectant silence.

"We know you are in there, Mr Sigerson. Don't think you can get away with meddling in our affairs."

I was almost tempted to roll my eyes, so often had I heard these words during my career.

"What a twat!" Harris spat, "Why would he alarm us to his presence when he might have had the advantage of surprising us?"

"Perhaps he thinks we are easily intimidated," I shrugged.

"Yes, but he is wrong, isn't he?" the young lord chuckled quietly, though it clearly showed how nervous he was.

"Perhaps we should fan out before they reach us. If we open fire from various sides, they will be deterred." Harris, ever the soldier suggested.

All five of us nodded and it was just when our pursuers got off their horses and were about to enter the ruins, that all of us had taken shelter again within sight of each other, waiting for Harris to give his sign. And it came quickly, the shots reverberating through the ancient ruins, ringing ominously in our ears. From our side seven shots were fired, one from each of our pistols as to puzzle them regarding our number. And it worked surprisingly well. Maybe, Luton had initially been really nothing more than an incapable soldier and strategist. But still, we needed to be on our guard. If he chose to underestimate his opponents, we would certainly not do so.

It would have been preferable, had we been able to eliminate them as we had their companions, but unfortunately, they all stormed in at once, crying, shouting and trying to appear as dangerous and ruthless as they possibly could, shooting around themselves in an attempt to hit anything and cause a reaction from us, hat would give away our positions. But all it did, was make it easier for us and while McKenna and my father preferred not to aim at the men, the remaining three of us did. Harris, with a look of great satisfaction on his face, struck down Luton, while Lord Warbrook and I immobilised the others, though this, unfortunately, meant that they still could make use of their guns. But fortunately it was common knowledge, that a revolver of that kind only held nine bullets, and they were soon used.

"Do you think they wanted to be shot?" my father inquired, as we approached them.

Well, it almost had appeared like it, but I rather believed, that they had been so surprised by our investigation, that they had not had any time planning their ambush – and had paid for it dearly. Though we technically had not had any time either to prepare for their ambush, we have had an advantage in being able to hide as must have had the man shooting the poor sod out there, leaving him to be mummified by the desert.

Shaking his head Aldwin kneed down by Luton's side to feel for his pulse, while McKenna and Warbrook bound the others.

"He is dead," my father announced, though with little compassion in his tone of voice.

"All the better," Harris grinned, wiping his grimy face.

"And now?" At last McKenna asked.

"They are bound to have a boat around and it will presumably be easiest to bring them down to Luxor via the river, but since we are here already, I would like to have a look around and attempt to find, what they have tried to guard so carefully."

But first, we sat down and had a good drink of water, as the heat once again had risen to almost unbearable temperatures, which before we had, in the, ironically, heat of the moment, not taken notice of before.

"Sure you would, and if you like, we can give you a hand – or rather an eye."

"I think I might be getting too old for such kind of adventures." my father remarked, though he did not sit down, but was just as busy searching for a possible spot to hide something as the rest of us were.

We had, of course, tried to question our prisoners, but they were, no surprise there, not very complying. We soon found out, why that was.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It did not take long for us, to indeed find what we were looking for. It was my father, who saw a slight indentation that only recently could have been made, as its edges were still sharp and not rounded as they would have been otherwise. And underneath this mark we dug and, while it was once more tedious to shovel away all the sand with its tendency to creep back exactly where one had just cleared it, we did not need to dig deep, as it appeared that the men who had hidden their 'treasure' here, had not bothered to exert themselves more than necessary either.

There is was, a small metal chest, completely unassuming and surprisingly light. Whatever it contained, it was certainly no gold or jewels. But what it did contain, was still breathtaking, though for a very different reason. - But that we only found out later, when we had returned to town, as at that moment, it was more urgent to get our prisoners were they belonged. We almost literally stacked them on the small vessel the two first chaps had come in and my father, as well as McKenna and Lord Warbrook, went home en-route of the Nile, while Harris and I, as well as the flock of horses and Luton's body, rode through the desert towards the same destination.

"Revenge is sweet, is it not?" Harris remarked after almost half an hour of silence.

"I find it often comes with a bitter after-taste," I remarked, thinking of my own revenge on the most dangerous criminal in all of England and my defeat of him which had cost me, at least for the time being, my closest friend and my own identity.

"You seem to speak from experience, Mr Sigerson."

"I do," I replied and we both fell silent once more.

The night was falling when we all met in our quarters to finally open the box. A box which as said contained neither gold nor jewels, but bonds. Bonds that had been the money with which the soldiers which had been held captive by the rebels at the fall of Khartoum were supposed to be bought free. The very mission, that Luton had, after his failed attempt to help our troops there, had been sent on. How he had managed to claim it again as failed, was beyond me, but it was soon enough explained to me, that Luton had claimed that while he had paid the money to the Mahdi's they had already killed their prisoners and all was lost anyway. They could not spend the money straight away but had to hide it, till they had found a way to liquidate the bonds, one by one, in an inconspicuous manner. Something which seemed to have proven more difficult than they had thought. All the bonds were still there. One was almost tempted to say that no harm was done, had it not been for the many lives that had been lost to the greed of a group of people who were supposed to be heroes.

"My brother was one of those prisoners, Mr Sigerson," Harris said through gritted teeth, as what he had assumed all along, namely that there had been a betrayal, had now become a certainty. "He could have lived if it had not been for Luton and his bunch of cowards."

All of us sat on our roof terrace drinking a glass of cheap brandy, staring into space at this horrible resolution to the case, though we still had no idea who the dead man we had found was.

The answer came a couple of days later. Days in which we had tried our utmost to return back to normal and work at Professor Norris' excavation. Even I had made myself useful by taking notes and drawing a couple of plans.

Eventually, my brother's letter had arrived bearing a number of names of men that had gotten lost in recent years, but one stood out. – Robert Kendall, a thirty-one-year-old army surgeon, stationed at the doomed city, who had been taken ill shortly before the uprising and who had been sent home to recover. Eventually, he had returned to Egypt after Khartoum had been conquered by the enemy, and there all trace of him was lost three years ago. Till now.

"You know, Mr Sigerson," McKenna remarked as all of us sat together one evening on our way back to Cairo, where I would spend another month with my father, "when you return to England, you might just as well take over the work of the late Mr Sherlock Holmes and replace him. You seem to be quite a good detective, if I may say so."

"No-one will ever be able to replace my son!" my father remarked with some vehemence which had everybody fall quiet.

"Your son?" McKenna stammered after several minutes of shocked silence, staring at the man he had known for a long while now as if he saw him for the first time.

"Yes, my son, Mr McKenna. No offence to you, Sigerson, you are very dear to me, but even you cannot replace my son."

"Nor do I intend to, Mr Holmes. By any means." I answered quietly, just as shaken by his plain statement as everybody else seemed to be.

While I had never called him 'father' till a few weeks ago, he had never openly admitted to being my natural father. That he did so now, turned yet another page in our relationship and once more for the better.

"I am glad to hear it." he smiled, leaving a lot of things unsaid, not that there was any need to voice them anyway. "Not that I thought you would. Always stay true to yourself, my boy, and you will be just fine. Where are you going to travel next?"

"I am not quite sure yet. I am tempted to go to Lhasa. I have recently read a report which had me quite intrigued."

"I do think that is a good choice, perhaps on the way, you will find yourself there at last."

I knew exactly what he was referring to. For so long I had not put my trust in people – or only in very few, Watson being one of them, even though even towards him, I had never really opened up. It was time to leave this habit behind me, even though it meant I once in a while would get hurt. But it would be a long journey and Aldwin had been sure, that a physical journey would help me along. Perhaps he was right. I was certainly willing to try, something seemed to be lacking in my life and only now I began to realise this. And after all, I could not stay here for much longer, lest my identity would be discovered in the long run. Even now, as Hendrik Sigerson, I seemed to have a knack getting involved in the most curious and unexpected criminal investigations.

No, in four weeks time I would leave Egypt, at least for some time. I would dearly miss my father, but this time, it would be a pleasant feeling even, as I had the knowledge that he would always be there for me, no matter what.

 **The END**

 **So, folks, that's it for this time. I hope you did like it. I know it was not the most interesting of tales, but I do hope it at least made sense.**

 **Please let me know what you think, I really appreciate your feedback (even though I am sorry to say, that lately, I have found it necessary to moderate the guest reviews - but as long as you are not downright insulting, I will put them online, of course).**

 **Love Nic**


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